


...Can Wash the Balm Off From an Anointed King

by angevin2



Category: Richard II - Shakespeare
Genre: M/M, Mildly Ominous Endings, PWP, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexy Medieval Bathing, Uncharacteristically Fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 19:46:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1359604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angevin2/pseuds/angevin2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard isn't as clueless as he acts. Silly porny followup to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1238509">All the Water in the Rough Rude Sea</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	...Can Wash the Balm Off From an Anointed King

**Author's Note:**

> Written for **rapiddescent** on tumblr, who requested a continuation of [All the Water in the Rough Rude Sea](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1238509). As with that fic I had the 2013 RSC production (the one with David Tennant as Richard) in my head when I wrote it, but it's not that specific about it. It's not really in continuity with the other fics I've written based on that production though. 
> 
> For the record, the reason they seem to magically be in the bedroom once sexytimes commence is that medieval nobles bathing privately would just have the tub set up in their bedroom most of the time. By the reign of Richard II purpose-built bathrooms were totally a thing -- Richard had them installed at Sheen and Eltham -- but this fic is set in Coventry shortly before the ill-fated Bolingbroke/Mowbray duel so I assume they're staying in a residence that doesn't have them.

”Edward!” Richard says.

Edward, eager to be out of the presence of a naked, dripping, and utterly unobservant Richard, groans inwardly as he halts in the doorway. Hasn’t Richard just dismissed him? What, exactly, does he want _now_?

"My lord?" Edward says, nearly tripping over his own feet in his effort to discover a posture that will keep Richard from noticing the rather obvious bulge in his hose. He folds his hands in front of himself, cursing whoever’s idea it was to make short gowns fashionable (of course, it was Richard’s, and Edward is uncertain whether that makes his cursing more or less sincere).

Richard approaches him as though he were entering the court to the sound of trumpets, and reaches up to cradle Edward’s face in both hands. “If you crave a boon of us,” he says, “you need only ask.”

He’s trailing two fingers down the side of Edward’s face, now, tracing his jawline and then his throat before coming to rest momentarily at the notch between his collarbones, and Edward can scarcely summon enough breath to answer. “Not this one, my lord,” he says. “I couldn’t be so — presumptuous — “

Richard leans in closer, bending in so that his lips brush Edward’s earlobe. “But you _do_ want it, Edward, don’t you?” he murmurs. His fingers resume their journey downward and Edward whimpers embarrassingly.

"My lord — " he breathes. "More than anything."

Richard’s smile is somewhere between benevolent, diabolical, and aroused as he traces the outline of Edward’s erection with one long finger, making him shudder and groan. “So I see,” he says, withdrawing his hand and taking hold of the waistband of Edward’s hose in order to draw him closer to the bed, and Edward follows, still striving to wrap his brain around the fact that any of this is actually happening. Richard’s usually-nimble fingers are making laborious work of the fastenings of Edward’s gown; Edward steps out of his boots and begins unlacing his hose, sliding his breeches down his hips.

"Why on earth do you have so many buttons?" Richard says, helping Edward out of his gown before starting in on his doublet, and Edward laughs as he leans in to press his lips to the crook of Richard’s neck before easing his robe over his shoulders.

"I’m a slave to fashion, my lord," Edward says, smiling against Richard’s skin. He still smells of sage and chamomile from the bathwater, and when Edward strokes his tongue lightly over Richard’s collarbones he can taste sweat as well. Richard sighs and tips his head back, pausing in his unbuttoning in order to run a hand through Edward’s hair as Edward leans in (he has to stand on tiptoe to do it) to kiss his throat.

"You needn’t call me ‘my lord,’ Edward," Richard says. "Not here."

"Richard, then," Edward whispers, between kisses — it’s ridiculously forward, and even more intoxicating, and he can’t help but laugh. What has he done to make things go so _right_ for once in his life? Richard tugs at his doublet, trying to peel it off, and Edward steps back to free his arms, shrugging out of his doublet and pulling his shirt over his head. Richard’s hand comes to rest on Edward’s shoulder, holding Edward at arm’s length as he looks him up and down, his eyes shining.

"God, you are _exquisite_ ,” he says, grinning broadly before pulling him close to kiss him. Edward presses up against him, hands sliding down Richard’s sides to grasp his hips as his lips part eagerly against Richard’s; he has to pull away from the kiss because the feeling of Richard’s skin against his own is making it difficult to breathe. Nobody’s ever called him exquisite before. He’s always assumed Richard’s tastes ran more toward the delicate and epicene, toward long-haired and laughing courtiers like Bushy, Bagot, and Green — but he can’t imagine Richard looking at _them_ the way he’s looking at Edward now, as he falls backward onto the bed and pulls Edward down on top of him.

"Not as exquisite as you are," Edward breathes against Richard’s mouth. "Your Majesty," he adds, grinning.

"Well, of course that’s an unfair comparison for _anyone_ — ” Richard laughs, but it ends in a gasp as Edward closes his teeth on Richard’s earlobe for a moment before releasing it so that he can kiss his way down Richard’s neck and chest and trail his tongue over the soft line of hair that runs down the center of his belly. He can feel Richard’s breathing quicken as he makes his way down to settle between his thighs, and when he nips gently at Richard’s long white inner thigh Richard moans and threads his fingers through Edward’s hair; Edward has only been at it for the length of a paternoster when Richard pulls harder at his hair in an attempt to persuade him to remove to neighboring territories.

But then, Edward has waited a long time for this. Richard can wait a few moments longer. He trails his forefinger along the underside of Richard’s cock, and Richard gasps and shudders. It makes Edward wish he could see Richard’s face from his present position. When he looks up, Richard is propped up on his elbows, watching in anticipation, and Edward grins at him.

"You’re a _tease_ ,” Richard says. “I should have known — ”

"Am I?" Edward pouts. "I beg your Majesty’s pardon — I’ll kiss your feet — " he says, raising himself to his knees to lift Richard’s foot to his lips and trace its arch with his tongue. His feet are slender and elegant, like his hands.

Richard laughs, shoving at him playfully with his foot. “That’s _precisely_ what I mean,” he says. “Get over here and kiss me.” He extends a hand, and when Edward takes it, he pulls Edward on top of him — before rolling them over so that he’s kneeling astride Edward, pinning him to the bed and bending in for a fierce, passionate kiss, gasping when Edward’s teeth catch hold of his lower lip. Edward reaches up to wind his hands in Richard’s hair, arching his back to press up against Richard as Richard pulls away for breath, pushing his face into Edward’s neck to collect himself for a moment before straightening up again. “Wait here,” he says, rolling off of Edward and springing to his feet.

Edward groans. “Now who’s a tease?”

Richard’s smile in response is beatific. “I’m King,” he says. “I’m allowed to be.” He wanders over, with more grace than someone who is completely naked should rightfully have, to a small table next to the bathtub, where he examines a few of the ornate jars and flasks assembled on it. He opens, sniffs, and discards a few of them before selecting one and returning to the bed to kneel astride Edward’s thighs again, pouring a small amount of oil into his hand. When he tilts his hand to let the oil drizzle onto Edward’s skin, Edward can’t hold back a gasp. He’s been doing his best to ignore the insistent ache in his groin in favor of the somewhat questionable pleasure of making Richard squirm; as Richard’s slick fingers trace patterns across his chest he finds he can’t ignore it any longer. Richard trails one long finger over Edward’s midsection, brushing the edge of his nether hair before reversing direction to travel back up along his hipbone, and Edward grits his teeth and clutches desperately at the bedclothes, breathing heavily as his toes curl and he tries not to writhe embarrassingly. He’s often suspected that Richard might actually have the ability to make him come without even laying a hand on his cock. He’s beginning to think that may not be the case.

"Christ, Richard," he pants. "Are you going to fuck me or not?"

And then Richard’s face lights up. He pours more oil into his hand before replacing the lid and setting the flask aside. 

"Didn’t I tell you, Edward?" he says, taking hold of Edward’s cock at long last, and Edward moans and tilts his head back as Richard circles the tip with his thumb, spreading the oil around. "You only have to ask."

Edward draws a deep breath, nodding as hard as he can. “Please — ” is all he can manage before Richard bends in to kiss him again. He straightens up, bracing his hands on Edward’s chest, and when he bears down, slow and careful, to take Edward into himself, Edward can’t help but cry out. Richard’s hair falls about his face; his eyes are shut tight and his brow furrows and he breathes raggedly through gritted teeth. Edward’s hands clench on Richard’s thighs and his hips jerk as Richard tilts his head back, moving slowly and mumbling something at least half to himself — Edward can make out a few obscenities, the odd iteration of the Divine Name, and once or twice he even hears his own name. He seems absolutely unguarded, apparently lost in his own pleasure. It’s a look that Edward has never seen in him before. Richard, he knows, can be capricious, emotional, even affectionate sometimes, but he is never so open as this. It’s beautiful — not that Richard isn’t always beautiful, but this is something unfamiliar and strange that makes Edward’s heart ache as much as his cock does. He’s afraid he’s about to come completely apart, but he can’t just let himself go off right away, can’t let this end so soon, not after he’s wanted it for so long. Certainly not without doing anything to give _Richard_ any pleasure. He grits his teeth and slides his hands up Richard’s thighs to grab hold of his hips, thrusting upward as best he can. It strains his neck a bit, since he can’t use his arms to brace himself that way, but he doesn’t care. Edward runs his hand along Richard’s hipbone, which makes him sigh, before wrapping his fingers around Richard’s cock, which makes him groan. Richard shudders and clenches as Edward strokes him, and the movement is nearly enough to undo him; his thighs tremble and he can feel the familiar tightening. “God — Richard — ” he gasps, and Richard leans forward, hair falling about Edward’s face, until their foreheads touch.

"It’s all right," Richard whispers, as though he knows what Edward’s thinking, and then kisses him until he comes.

When Edward opens his eyes, after the heated shudders of pleasure have ebbed, Richard has straightened up enough to watch him as he recovers himself. His eyes are wide and dark, his lips parted; he is tense and lean and he breathes hard. Edward smiles up at him, fumbling for the flask of oil; he pours the last of it into his hand and takes hold of Richard’s cock again, stroking him until he cries out and comes all over Edward’s hand. After a moment he lifts himself off of Edward and collapses, in a way that’s still somehow ridiculously elegant, onto the bed. Edward turns onto his side and leans in to kiss Richard’s forehead before getting to his feet, making his way on shaky legs to the ewer and basin.

"Do you mind if…" he begins, and Richard waves a dismissive hand in his direction. Edward cleans himself in a perfunctory manner before returning to the bed, where Richard wraps an arm around him. He can’t stop grinning and he’s aware that he probably looks like a total idiot, but he doesn’t care.

Nor does Richard, as it happens. “You should smile more,” he says, running a thumb across Edward’s lower lip. “You’re always so serious.” 

"I think I can manage that, my lord — "

Richard presses his thumb across both Edward’s lips. “What did I tell you?”

"…Richard," Edward finishes. He can’t resist another smile as he pronounces the name. "Force of habit, you understand."

"You’re right, though," Richard says. "We should have done this years ago." He kisses Edward again — slowly this time, like it’s a promise, and Edward winds his hands in Richard’s hair and kisses him back. "Well, no matter," he adds, after they draw apart. "After tomorrow’s unpleasantness, we can make up for lost time."


End file.
